Grey
by IntravenousDollhouse
Summary: Caught up in a grey world, Duo attempts to sort out his own emotions and, hopefully, find a way to survive. Alternate Universe. Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Of course I do not own this, nor am I making any money from it. Who would pay me for this stuff, anyways?

Grey:

We were best friends. You have been with me since the day my father died. You stayed with me, even when I told you that I was the one who killed him. You didn't think I was dirty, or wrong, or hypocritical when I told you not to pump your arms full of that shit.

Our lives were ruined.

Everything went so, so wrong. Everyone who met us was tainted, corrupted and wrecked in the long run. Sometimes it didn't even take that long - usually it didn't take that long. Even that pretty policeman with his pretty girlfriend was ruined in the end, even though you and I both thought he would be the one to make it. No one makes it when you get mixed up and lost in these things. Our world is one without mercy, without hope or love to get you through. You can lie and convince yourself that this next hit will be your very last, but you will undoubtedly end up with that needle in your arm again.

You will undoubtedly end up in bed with men whose faces you will never remember.

We knew nothing of strength.

I thought you were so strong to stay by my side despite all the shit I brought home; all the shadowy, sickening memories I plagued your own head with, even though they were not yours to bear. I thought I was strong for doing the same for you.

We were both so completely wrong. We were weak.

You fell.

I stared down at your shell; into the place where you were, just moments before, begging me to end your life. You didn't have the strength anymore. You didn't have the option to do it to yourself. Your hands and legs were bound by a pristine white jacket, which stood out so starkly against the mottled, yellow gray flesh stretched across your skeleton. The shadows under your eyes made you look like the specter you would have preferred to be.

'Duo, I can't live like this anymore.'

I couldn't speak, my throat was swelling.

'Please. I saw them all suffer. We brought them to the end of their lives. I hurt Trowa...'

My chest was so tight, I felt dizzy.

'Those men...I feel them. Their hands are all over me, melting my skin. They still laugh at me here...they know.'

I didn't feel the first tear, or the ones to follow. I didn't feel much anymore. My skin was numb. Somehow, through this sudden affliction, I managed to croak, 'Quatre. You're unwell.'

You started laughing. The sound broke my heart, and strangled me with it's hollow, twisted echo.

'Since when do you talk so sweetly, Duo? Unwell - you should just come out with it and say what you mean to say, what you would say if you weren't so broken too.'

'And what...would I say?' I whispered, my throat feeling meaty and raw, and thick with swollen tissue.

'Just call me crazy. I'm completely insane, right? That's why I'm in here. I'm not unwell. I'm undone.'

'Quatre, I-' But you interrupted before I could say what I really wanted to.

'Shut up.' I heard you whisper.

You were sobbing, but no tears came. The dry sorrow wracked your body, and you shuddered violently with each cry. I thought you were dying.

'There...was...a hole. It was rotting away. It peeled away. It was purple and yellow, and grey. Grey is the wrong color.'

The sobs turned to soft giggles, and some foamy blood oozed from the corner of your mouth as you uttered them. You had been gnawing off flesh from the inside of your lips again. You always did that when you were stressed - when we were threatened with imprisonment. But you rarely bled. Now the stuff was practically spewing from your once full and enticing lips.

We had become so hollow; so grey.

'I thought Heero could save us.'

I had thought so too, once. It had been such a disappointment. I wanted at least one of us to make it through.

But no one makes it through...and you get to a point where being saved is an empty, dreadful fantasy, making a mockery of your struggling hope.

I grabbed you and hugged you tightly. I cried into your dull, matted hair. I crushed your chest, relishing in the bones snapping as they fueled my emotions, and kept me feeling alive. I watched as you smiled serenely up at me with your huge, sunken doll's eyes and slightly warped, upturned lips.

As I stared down at your body that was once so full, happy, and hopeful - once so beautiful, and realized that you were now just a cold, dead, cadaver - a macabre halloween decoration - I found that I could really, really use ...

another hit.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

The torrential rain hammered against my body as I raced through the mucky streets of downtown L2. Each drop felt like an anvil from a violent cartoon. I could feel the nerves in my brain cry out in protest, and the nerves in my limbs quiver with desire. I needed the drugs, badly. I had already gone without them for a couple of days and my mind was racing from option to option, wondering which one would yeild the quickest way to make the money I needed.

Quatre was at home, waiting for me to come back with some of the stuff we both relied so heavily upon. He had offered to sleep with those guys who knew Trowa. Trowa had said there was no fucking way he was going to let his boyfriend sleep with some slimy, married business man just to get drugs.

That had been really hilarious. Trowa knew it wouldn't be long before he too needed the drugs so bad, he would let Quatre do anything he wanted to get the money for them. There was no room for love, or protection here. Having friends was amazing enough, for guys in our situation. We would have sold each other for money, if we could have - near the end.

There was a cop that had been following me for a while. I could sense his presence behind me; he was dressed to blend in and trick people into thinking he was just another junkie, hanging out in the park, ready to shoot up.

I walked briskly across the untended lawn of the junkie park, ignoring the desperate clutches at the hem of my sweater, and the pleas for some money. I briefly twisted my neck around to see if I could catch a glimpse of the cop. I sighed, spotting him a little ways away, slumped haphazardly against a decorative, dilapidated column.

'Shit,' I thought, 'when's he just going to give up? He won't catch me with anything. I fucking _wish_ I was holding.'

It was getting harder to avoid the guy. I couldn't even get close to my destination with him tailing me like that. Although I didn't have any drugs myself, I was going to see a guy who would give me some if I treated him right. The guy's name was Lincoln, and he had made some serious cash from playing the system right. He had somehow managed to procure a pound of the pure stuff back in his day. Everything had just gone right for him since then, he told us once, as we sat in his lushly decorated apartment; so different from the slums that composed most of L2.

That guy has had a thing for me since we met; introduced to each other by Trowa, who was so desperate for a hit, that he had offered his own company to Lincoln that night. Trowa had only agreed to let us come along because we had pestered him to death, and he was in no mood to put up a halfway decent fight. Quatre and I wanted to ensure that we had a connection for the more deprived days, even if we never wanted to have to stoop so low as to whore ourselves out.

As it turns out, pride is ephemeral.

Lincoln had taken me aside once he was finished with Trowa. He had stroked my face, caressed my long, dark hair. He had whispered sweet nothings in my ear that had been meant to fool me into thinking he was a nice guy, but had only made me feel sick to my stomach. I wasn't an idiot. I knew what it was he wanted. It was obvious, if I paid attention to the knowledge of what he had already done to Trowa, and of what most of the guys in this business expected when they gave you drugs for no money.

I tried telling him I wasn't hooked - that I wasn't like Trowa. He had calmly replied, 'Of course you're not. I know that. I just wanted to invite you over to dinner at my place sometime. I know that sometimes things can get rough. It's just nice to get away from it all, right sweetheart?'

I had nodded, trying to edge myself away from this man whose cologne was burning into my nostrils and giving me a headache, and whose soothing words were meaningless.

Even now, as I attempted to discreetly make my way towards his lair, I felt sick, and wanted nothing more than to turn and run. I almost wanted to hand myself in to that young cop that was tracing my footsteps, and maybe get help from someone.

I almost did just that before I reminded myself that not even he could be trusted. Cops especially couldn't be trusted.

'What were you thinking, Duo?' I chastised myself, with a humorless chuckle. 'He'll be able to prove that you've been in possession of drugs. All he'd need to do is look at the track marks on your arms.'

One of those marks in question was getting infected. I could feel it pulsing angrily beneath the worn fabric of my sweater. I shivered. I definitely wanted to get that cleaned right away. 'I'll pour some rubbing alcohol on it or something,' I thought, 'I hope that will be enough. I can't afford to risk going to a doctor at this point.'

I had a friend whose arm got so infected from injecting in one spot over and over that she had to be brought to the doctor unconscious because she had passed out from the pain. Her right arm had been revolting. It had rotted, and became so swollen with the festering flesh that it had turned purple, and yellow, and grey. You could see the vein sticking out of the putrid mess; fat and juicy.

I didn't want that to happen to my arm.

'Lincoln will have something for that, I'm sure.' I felt my face contort into a disgusted grimace as I thought about what the night ahead would hold for me. I found myself fervently hoping that Lincoln had decided against bringing his friends like he had said he would over the phone when I had called earlier; a quivering mess of raw, needy nerve endings. I was still in such desperate need of the drugs.

The thought of a good high propelled me forwards, in the direction of Lincoln's luxurious apartment, outfitted for all his deviant needs. He had a huge bed, easily king sized, and equipped with layers of soft sheets, which he must have had dry cleaned more than a thousand times considering what they had been through.

Trowa had told me stories about Lincoln after our first encounter. He told me about how he had young girls and boys - all addicts - gather at his apartment to do apalling things for him and his buddies. He told me how he himself had done things for Lincoln and his crew that you would have never even heard about.

I hoped Lincoln would go easy on me, but, of course,

I highly doubted it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

He said I was special.

He said that I was different from his usual clientele - that's what he called those girls and boys. One such 'client' had been staring at Lincoln and I with the most ironic, tragic smile, as he rubbed his thumb across the palms of my hands. It tickled, and I wanted him to stop, to take his hands off me and shut up.

I knew he was lying. As I've mentioned, I knew what he wanted from me, and that was why I found myself in his shifty abode in the first place.

Still, he seemed to find it necessary to court me in his own, tainted way. I was getting lightheaded and confused from the haze of smoke drifting through the air.

Cigarette smoke, and pot, to waste time while the men waited for their own 'clientele'.

Lincoln had evidently boasted to his greasy pals about me because they had nudged him as he pulled me through the threshold to hell, excitedly muttering 'Is this the one you were talking about?' and other such sentences, forcing me to lower my eyes and hold down the vomit that was slowly crawling up the back of my throat.

I later managed to become very skilled at dispelling unpleasant memories from my brain's limited storage, and therefore, this night is, mercifully, only a jumbled mess of old feelings, rather than clear images.

What likely happened was that I had been pulled onto a bed, probably not Lincoln's own, but a sort of guest bed, and then gazed at by men more than twice my age as I committed unspeakable variations of the sin 'lust'.

The thought that my friends would become subject to similar situations wouldn't have made an impression upon my conscience at the time, no matter how devastating I knew the experience to be.

As I watched the rain water form rivulets down the windows of the bus home, I was reminded of veins. Complex labyrinths of the human body, and gateways for my only passion. Veins. I traced one with my middle finger, unmindful of the scum clinging to the glass.

I had found it difficult to sleep the night before this event took place. I couldn't stop my foot from twitching, and I had no idea what song it was tapping out, but I knew I would be okay after everything was over with.

Trowa and Quatre had been arguing that day. It was obvious from the way Trowa would break from his characteristic silence to snap at Quatre for doing inconsequential things like forgetting to put the lid back on the toothpaste, or humming the jingle to a dumb commercial. Quatre responded by sinking back into this sort of shield that he had created at some point in his life for emotional protection. The atmosphere in our shared basement suite was very tense that day, but I knew the little packet in the deep folds of my pocket would fix all that.

I tossed it into a sulking Quatre's lap, and was treated to a grateful smile.

'I was wondering when you would get back, Duo.' Spoke a rapidly brightening Trowa, emerging from behind the curtain to our room.

'I was worried for a while that you got caught or something...' mumbled Quatre, frowning slightly, though his eyes were shining with anticipation.

'Nah, no troubles here. I'm a fucking shadow.' I grinned, hoping they wouldn't ask for the details on how I got the stuff.

They didn't.

'Come on guys, let's make this a better day.'

Later that night, I awoke to the clambering of a frail being infiltrating my own mattress to curl up beside me.

'Trowa's hogging the blankets.'

I chuckled a little, shuffling over to give him some room. He quickly pressed against me, closing the gap between us. I turned around to see how he was doing, and was unsurprised by the silvery tears slithering down his face. I wrapped my arms around him, unsure of what to do, but assuming that he wanted physical contact.

I didn't push him away when he pressed his lips against mine. My mind was racing, but the thoughts were useless, so I just let him deepen the kiss, making the choice to enjoy the intimacy. When we broke apart, he was no longer crying.

'I love you, Duo.'

I smiled into his messy blonde hair.

'Yeah, I love you too Shorty.'

I felt his fist connect with my arm gently, playfully, and was grateful for the rare chance at a lighthearted exchange.

'Tomorrow morning, can we go for a walk, just us?' He asked me softly.

'Yeah, sure. You don't think Trowa will mind?'

He was silent for a moment.

'...I don't care if he does.'

I wasn't too worried then. I just thought that he was secretly affected by Trowa's crabbiness and was retaliating in his own way.

Obviously, I didn't know Quatre as well as I had previously thought. I didn't know Trowa too well either.

I later found out he was the jealous type.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

I tried to force my heart to race as I saw him undress the next morning. I tried to imagine touching him. I mused over what his skin would feel like against my own. I supposed it would be soft, like suede, even though we were all so unhealthy. I had recently discovered that the love discussed in my bed the prior night was different from the love shared between close friends - as I had assumed it to be. I had been corrected very, very early in the morning as I found myself assaulted by demanding kisses and desperate embraces.

'God, you're awake so early...' I had groaned through my fatigue.

'Duo...' He pressed his forehead against my own, and I knew.

I had spent my time in the shower focussing on how to love him back. My heart felt ill. I didn't think that was quite the feeling I was aiming for. I reflected upon my life, searching for the memory of what romantic love felt like.

I discovered that my heart was barren.

I wanted to share the right emotion that Quatre, but I couldn't. I felt hollow, and cruel for not being able to return this beautiful feeling that he had chosen me for - of all people. He had chosen me. I felt undeserving.

I was undeserving.

We walked slowly, savoring the sweet morning breeze, feeding off of it. I closed my eyes. I stopped walking. I took his face into my hands, tilting it upwards as I was a little taller than him. I leaned forwards and pressed my lips gently against his.

I felt nothing, still.

He didn't notice.

He kissed me back, deepening the contact. He reached around my waist and grasped the ebony fabric of my shirt desperately.

I betrayed him, and myself, as I responded with false enthusiasm.

The illness in my heart grew, parasitically enveloping it with the notion that I was doing the right thing. I ignored it. We continued our clandestine romance behind Trowa's back. We kept on taking the drugs.

We pretended that nothing had changed.

We had treated him like an idiot. I should have seen the ominous look in his eyes as he glanced at me. I should have been able to detect the subtle differences in his demeanor.

As I have said, we treated him as though he was an idiot, and he did the same - with one crucial difference.

We were idiots. Trowa was not.

As we spent our time devising clever ways to avoid him and see each other in private, he had been concealing his discovery of our affair, concocting his own way of dealing with it. I don't know what happened. I had known Trowa for a long, long time. I had always thought I could trust that he would be open with me. I thought he loved Quatre more than anyone, and would do anything to make him happy. I thought he was a nice guy.

I suppose, looking back on it now, I still believe he was a nice guy - just corrupted by his own emotions. Undermined by them.

I even asked Quatre to tell him, to respect his own boyfriend's feelings enough to come clean to him. I figured that we all could have dealt with it openly then.

I always wondered why Quatre was so adamant about remaining discreet around Trowa. I guess he knew him pretty well; not well enough to see what would soon come to be, though. None of us could have predicted that...

I think he went insane after being in the asylum for so long. He and I had seen some pretty sick shit relating to the drugs. His mother had been addicted to them. She had a lot of open sores that had started rotting from the needle injections. I think he must have dreamed about her illnesses a lot. The stench of her wounds, alive and throbbing with yellowy pus. He had a lot of time to think and dream in his cell.

The doctors had been cruel, using ancient methods of curing patients. Most of them had been paid a little extra under the table to take on new patients; and keep them under control indefinitely. I guess they were really just playing around with most of the people there considering the majority of them had no need to be cured. I knew Trowa had paid them into taking Quatre.

I had no idea where he got the money to do that, though.

In the end, I guess it could be summed up as a property dispute. Trowa didn't want his territory to be breached.

When I think of it, I actually get sick. It was my fault that Quatre was stuck in that place, with no hope to be released. It was my fault.

And I didn't even love him back.


End file.
